


earnestly yours (and you, mine)

by lunapark



Category: Merlin (TV), The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunapark/pseuds/lunapark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a soldier. Merlin is a physician's apprentice. Life is never easy, though Merlin wishes it was.</p><p>Merlin AU, set shortly after the events of TSOA</p>
            </blockquote>





	earnestly yours (and you, mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Since this takes place after TSOA ends, there will be no true character crossovers. However, a handful of characters are mentioned throughout the fic by name—namely, Achilles and Patroclus, as well as references to the nature of their relationship. 
> 
> Warning: **Major spoilers** for the entirety of TSOA, but particularly the end.

 

•••

 

By the time Merlin finishes redressing the wound, his fingers are sticky-wet, the air in Arthur's chambers thick with the scent of sandalwood and honey. The wound has healed well with little pain and no infection, skin pink as it stitches back together neatly, and for that Merlin is grateful.

When healed fully, it will look like a scar from training and battle, of which Arthur has many, and not the work of a poisoned knife slicing the tender flesh beneath his ribs, tearing through layers of muscle. Merlin's hand twitches as the memory of Arthur falling to his knees flashes through his mind, of the blood that had bloomed bright red against the white of his tunic, the pale skin of his hand as he had pressed down on the gash, a futile attempt to stop the bleeding; and the boy, not much younger than they, screaming, "Your father killed my own. Is it not fair that a son kills a son?" before Leon had silenced him with his sword. Merlin steadies his hand, mindful of what Gaius had always told him—that physicians must work with their heads, not their hearts—and wipes away the bit of salve that leaks from his bandages. Even Arthur is quiet, devoid of his usual jeers and name-calling, and appears content simply to watch Merlin work.

"That will do." His voice is quiet, but it sounds loud in the deafening silence of his chambers. "Thank you, Merlin."

"My lord," Merlin mutters. Unable to meet his gaze, Merlin keeps his eyes downcast, staring at a broken strap of leather on his sandal that needs to be mended. He stands and washes his hands in the basin quickly. A servant had warmed it for Arthur's bath, but now the water is barely tepid.

"You know you don't have to call me that," Arthur says, breaking the quiet again. "Least of all here."

"A habit, I suppose." Merlin frowns at the water. His hands are already dry and cold water only makes it worse. He whispers a word, eyes flashing gold, and the water is warm again. He ignores the way Arthur shakes his head, exasperated but fond. _You cheat!_ , Arthur had used to say, when they were children and Merlin would use magic to trip him and win their races.

"Would you rather I called you a prat?"

"No," Arthur says flatly. "But that's never stopped you before." Merlin grins and even Arthur is smiling a little as he turns towards the window, staring out at the endless blue ocean that surrounds their little island of Samothrake. His hair catches the midday rays of sunshine and Merlin feels a sharp tug in his chest.

"What troubles you, Merlin?" Arthur asks suddenly, unexpectedly. It catches him off-guard.

Merlin purposely takes a long time to dry his hands. "Troubles me?"

"That's right." Arthur is still looking out the window, but his mind seems elsewhere. "You've seemed distracted these last few days."

"It's nothing," Merlin lies, badly.

"It's something," Arthur says, turning to look at him. "I've known you since we were little more than boys. Do not lie to me." His voice is not unkind.

Merlin stands still, fingers twining restlessly, guiltily behind his back. "I'm only tired, is all," he says, and forces a smile to sell it. "Gaius works me hard these days as we gather supplies for the long winter ahead."

Arthur still doesn't look entirely convinced, so Merlin adds, "Then there's the task of patching you up, of course. It seems as though every time a wound heals, two more take its place." He means it to be lighthearted, but his voice catches in his throat.

It does not go unnoticed. Arthur draws his brows together. "Merlin—"

"The war has ended at last," Merlin rushes to say, cutting off Arthur before he can press him further. He nods out the window. "Troy has fallen to the Achaeans."

"So I've heard," Arthur says. He sounds displeased. Merlin can feel his gaze boring a hole into his back. "It's about time, after these ten long years."

Merlin starts. That's right, it _had_ been ten years since the war had begun. It had left their tiny island kingdom untouched, their king refusing to send forth his troops in what he called a senseless, useless war. He would not risk the lives of his men so that a kidnapped woman could be returned to her husband, no matter how beautiful she may be. Merlin thinks of the war, of the sheer number of casualties. How many families had lost a son? A father? A husband? He thinks of Arthur, strong and healthy. Alive.

Merlin counts himself lucky.

"Who knew that a boy could end the war," Arthur muses, drawing him away from his thoughts.

"Not just any boy," Merlin says. "Achilles' son. Part god, just like his father." He had heard that Pyrrhus had been raised by his grandmother, Thetis, Achilles' mother and a chilling sea nymph known for her hatred of mortals.

"More human than his father, yet he still lives while Achilles is dead." Arthur doesn't sound scathing, just wondering. "Though perhaps more human in blood alone," Arthur adds. "I have heard stories about his cruelty. His ruthlessness. He frightens many."

Merlin wonders what happened to Pyrrhus' mother, Achilles' wife. He realizes he doesn't even know her name.

"They say Achilles could have saved himself from Paris' spear if he so wished," Arthur says. "He went into battles unarmed. He must have been mad."

Merlin chances a look at Arthur. He is sitting up forward in bed, sheets pooled around his bare waist, his expression thoughtful if not somewhat confused.

"Mad with grief," Merlin tells him.

Arthur seems to understand immediately. "Patroclus," he says. There is a hint of sadness in his voice.

Merlin nods. Their story is well-known by many, news of their deaths reaching every kingdom in Greece, their island being no exception. Patroclus had disguised himself as Achilles, went out and defeated Sarepdon before being killed by Hector. In his grief, Achilles had massacred Trojan soldiers and singlehandedly killed Hector, dragging around his body for all to see for two days. Afterwards he had thrown himself at his opponents recklessly, armed with only a spear. Many said he had lost the will to live, that part of him died along with Patroclus.

"He craved death," Arthur says.

"Yes." A beat. "Can you blame him?"

"No."

They look at each other for a long moment. Merlin knows what Arthur is thinking because he is thinking the same thing—that Patroclus had been Achilles' most trusted companion, his closest brother-in-arms, but they both know that their bond had run much deeper than that of simple comrades. The rumors of the true nature of their relationship were endless, especially now that Pyrrhus' lineage had been revealed. It was not uncommon for a man to have a wife and take a lover, but this was different, unorthodox. There had been a wife, but she remained a shadow, forgettable to many, including Achilles himself. Instead, there was only him. Only Patroclus.

Merlin did not need rumors or stories to figure out the truth. He had seen it with his own eyes the time he had accompanied Arthur to Phthia. His father, Uther, had been a great general and was sent overseas to negotiate a possible alliance. As the general's only son, Arthur had been expected to come along, though he had been too young at the time to do more than just sit aside quietly. He had convinced Uther to bring Merlin along under the guise of a servant boy, and that was how Merlin had found himself in a foreign land, tied to his home only by the boy at his side.

He and Arthur had been exploring a marketplace when Merlin had seen Achilles for the first time. He had known next to nothing about him, only that he was god and mortal both and destined to be the greatest warrior in all of history. Merlin hadn't even known how Achilles was supposed to look, but then he had seen him and he just _knew_ —radiant like the sun, with a head of golden curls and eyes as green as the leaves Gaius picked for his medicines. Achilles had only been a few years older than Merlin at the time, but he was already heartbreakingly beautiful, just as his goddess mother was said to be, drawing eyes from men and women alike.

But Achilles had paid no attention to them, and when Merlin was able to tear his gaze away, he noticed the boy at Achilles' side, a human. He had reminded Merlin very much of himself, tall and lanky with a gait that was a bit awkward. He had looked uncomfortable there, surrounded by so many people. But Achilles had eyes only for him.

"Patroclus," Achilles had called, and before he could answer, had a whole fig stuffed into his mouth.

Achilles had laughed loudly. It reminded Merlin of the way Arthur laughed, with his head tipped back towards the sky. Patroclus had looked annoyed, but a little pleased too. Merlin remembers the tiny smile he had gifted Achilles before biting into the fig and chewing. Achilles had smiled too, a soft and intimate thing, his eyes lingering on Patroclus for a moment too long.

Merlin had glanced away then, overcome with guilt. It had felt like he was intruding on a very private moment. When he had snuck a look back up, they were gone.

Merlin had kept the moment he had witnessed to himself. At time time, he'd been too young to understand the truth behind secret smiles, their gentle gazes.

Now, looking at Arthur, Merlin thinks he finally understands.

Suddenly, Arthur's face darkens. "It was his own fault Patroclus died. The blood is on his hands alone."

Merlin shoots him a warning look. Half mortal he may be, but Achilles was part god too. "Arthur, you must not—"

"He was vain and foolish," Arthur insists, jaw clenched with anger. "I don't insult his memory, only his actions. He chose fame over the lives of soldiers that fought by his side, over the person he so—" He glances at Merlin and his shoulders sag. He looks weary. "So loved."

"You think he did not realize that?"

"Only when it was too late." Arthur looks deeply sad. "If I were in his place, I would not have acted so selfishly."

No, he wouldn't have—of this Merlin was certain. Arthur was many things, but he was noble above all, his heart too kind and too big. He would do anything for the people he cared about. Fame meant nothing to him if it was at their expense. In another life he would have made a fine king. Merlin smiles at him sadly.

"But you are no god," Merlin says.

His throat works as he swallows. "But I am no god," Arthur agrees soundly.

 _Only human_ , Merlin reminds himself. It is easy to forget.

Throat tight, Merlin moves to leave. "If there is nothing else, then I'll be—"

"Merlin," Arthur says, gently. He stops at the door and closes his eyes, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. "Come here. Please."

Merlin forces himself to turn around and walk the short distance to Arthur's bed. He keeps his eyes stubbornly downcast.

"Sit down." It does not sound like an order. Arthur is giving him a choice. Merlin sits down at the edge of the bed. He is reluctant to look up, and when he does, he finds Arthur watching him attentively.

"Now will you tell me what's really been bothering you?"

His eyes are large and very blue. Merlin knows it is no trick of the light. He doesn't think he could lie even if he tried.

"I worry about you," Merlin tells him, honestly.

But Arthur just shakes his head, brushing it off as though Merlin's fears are silly and unfounded. "There is nothing to worry about," he says, like Merlin knew he would. It upsets him.

He curls his hands into fists, skin pulled tight over his knuckles. _How do you know that what happened to them won't happen to us?_ , he wants to ask. _How can you be so sure?_

Instead, Merlin holds his gaze. He looks deep into his eyes, so full of life; eyes that slant upwards when he smiles and crinkle when he laughs. He thinks of the day when they will stare back at him, lifeless and empty. Dead. It makes his lungs go tight, like he can't breathe anymore.

It is some time before Merlin is able to get his voice to work. "Can you imagine what it's like to lose everything like he did?" Merlin runs his fingers over the bandages wrapped around Arthur's left flank. "Because this is how close I came."

Arthur stares at him. He doesn't seem shocked—he has no reason to be, not after all these years; Merlin has always been more than candid with his feelings for Arthur. But there is something else there. Uncertainty, maybe.

Arthur swallows, opens his mouth. "Merlin..." he says tentatively.

"Do you know what it felt like, seeing you lying still in that cot, barely breathing?" His eyes burn and his throat is so tight that it hurts to talk. "You were so pale, Arthur. You looked so small. So helpless. When Gaius told me he couldn't do anything for you, I thought to myself, 'You will never hear his voice say your name again.' My mind went blank with panic. I felt dizzy. Gwaine tried to get me to sit down, but I shoved him away. I ran outside, just there." Merlin points outside Arthur's window, to the sand and rocks.

"It felt like there was something rising up inside me, struggling to get free. 'Why not me?' I shouted. 'Why him?' There was no answer." Merlin is aware, however distantly, that Arthur is trying to hush him, but he goes on. "Then I screamed—screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat felt raw and all I could do was lie on the sand and cry. I wanted to die with you."

"No, no no no— Shh, Merlin, _Merlin,_ listen to me." Arthur reaches out and cradles his face in his hands, big and warm. Merlin leans into the touch. "You did it. You saved me, don't you remember?"

Merlin does. Ultimately, it was his magic that had pulled him to his feet, urging him back towards Arthur. The closer Merlin had gotten, the stronger the pull had become, his magic thirsting for a Arthur like a drowning man to air. The sickness had been so strong. It had taken every bit of his magic and strength to cleanse the poison from Arthur's body. But he had. Merlin had waited until he'd seen Arthur draw in a deep breath before collapsing next to the cot, exhausted.

"I should have _protected_  you."

"But your magic—"

"—is useless if it cannot protect you."

"It was my own fault," Arthur insists. "I'm a soldier, I shouldn't have lowered my guard. I should have been more careful—"

Merlin pulls away from him, ignoring the way Arthur flinches as though he's been hurt. "A soldier," he repeats. "I am only a physician's apprentice, Arthur. I cannot follow you onto the battlefield as your shield."

Arthur raises his chin. "I don't need you to follow me. I am more than capable of defending myself in a fight."

 _So was Achilles_. Merlin chokes out a laugh. "You are not invincible. What if you happen to get hurt? What then?" But the stubborn set of Arthur's jaw already tells him the answer to that question.

"I do not fear death," Arthur says, careless in the way he says it.

Merlin's face grows hot with anger, blood simmering beneath his skin. He wants to grab Arthur by his shoulders and shake sense into him. His fingertips tingle as though he has just burned himself—it's his magic, as restless and angry as the rest of him. The basin of water falls to the floor with a loud clang. Arthur's gaze flicks to it mildly before he looks at him again. He knows Merlin's magic will never hurt him.

"Then what _are_  you afraid of?!" Merlin snaps.

At that, Arthur's face softens. He reaches out and uncurls one of Merlin's hands, pressing his fingers to his palm. Merlin watches as Arthur takes his hand in his own and squeezes it gently, comfortingly.

When he looks up, Arthur is watching him sadly. "Losing you," he replies.

Merlin feels the anger slowly drain out of him, like a deep breath exhaled. As a boy, it had been one of his greatest fears—the gods discovering his magic and trying to snatch him away from Gaius and his mother. From Arthur.

"But you're _my_  friend," Arthur used to say, brandishing his little sword. "Don't worry, Merlin, I'll protect you."

Merlin smiles. Even now, he has no doubt that Arthur would fight every losing battle against anyone or anything that tried to take him away. But the thought doesn't frighten him anymore, not like how it used to. Because surely if they knew about him, they would have tried already. He tells Arthur as much.

"That may be." Arthur traces the curve of his cheek with a thumb. "But I cannot take that chance, dragon blood or not."

His magic is not ordinary; he has the blood and magic of a dragon in his veins, like his father. But Merlin knows nothing about his father. He has never even met him. He only knows what Gaius has told him—that his father had been a traveler through their village and his mother, a young woman at the time, had taken pity on him and given him shelter. They had lain together that night, and he had left before sunrise the next morning. Shortly after, his mother had discovered she was pregnant.

She had done her best to hide her swelling belly, but eventually it became too apparent to hide. The village had shunned her, including her own parents and sisters. Gaius had taken her in to his home, had given her food and rest and even delivered Merlin when the time had come for his birth.

"I remember holding you in my arms. You were so tiny, so precious," Hunith had told him. "You opened your eyes and looked up at me. They flashed gold. I wept and could not stop."

She and Gaius had raised Merlin together for much of his early life, with Hunith teaching him his first words and helping him with his first steps, and Gaius showing him how to control his magic. It had been that way until Gaius was summoned to become the personal physician of the Pendragons. And as much as it had hurt her to do it, Hunith had sent Merlin along with him under the guise of Gaius' nephew, knowing that Merlin would be safe that way.

Merlin was five years old when he first met Arthur Pendragon, son of the great general Uther Pendragon. He still remembered the way Arthur had looked at him, confused and maybe a little bit wary, but intrigued above all.

Merlin brushes his fingers over the scar on Arthur's temple, earned years ago in his first battle. "Come back to me," Merlin had told Arthur, tangling their fingers together the night before, then the morning of. "Promise me." And Arthur had, the words pressed into his skin over and over again.

Merlin cups Arthur's face in his own hands. He is so strong, so beautiful and vibrant. Merlin can hardly reconcile this with the man he had seen, lying half dead on a cot. "I would not let them keep me from you. Not ever."

"And I would not let death keep me from you," Arthur tells him.

 _He is so fragile_ , Merlin thinks, and his heart clenches painfully at the thought of what would have become of Arthur without the help of his magic. Unable to say more, Merlin kisses him then. He means for it to be a brief touch of their lips, soft and chaste, but Arthur's hand draws him in again as he starts to pull away, slotting their mouths together. His thumb settles in the small space behind Merlin's ear like it often does during the nights when Merlin jolts awake from a nightmare, gasping and in tears. Their lips are sticky-soft and they trade long, slow kisses until Merlin is dizzy and breathless.

But even then, Merlin can't bear to be far apart from Arthur. He leans their foreheads together, rolling them from side to side at that tenuous point of contact. Arthur is breathing just as hard as he is, his eyes half shut.

Merlin's hands fall to his shoulders, the skin warm beneath his fingers. "Do not leave me."

Arthur takes Merlin's chin in his hand and bumps their noses together. "I will be here by your side as long as the stars will have me."

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. "And after that?"

"I will wait for you by the gates," Arthur tells him. Merlin's bottom lip trembles. "I will look for you, and I will find you."

"Arthur..."

"Always." Merlin opens his eyes to look at Arthur. His eyes are intense, blue like the sky on a summer's day. "I mean it, Merlin, in every lifetime, I—"

Merlin cuts him off before he can say another word. He kisses him hard, his sob muffled against Arthur's lips. Arthur slides his fingers into Merlin's hair and yields to him, parting his lips against Merlin's own. He licks into Arthur's mouth hungrily, still sweet from the dates he had eaten after lunch earlier. It reminds Merlin of the days spent lounging around on the beach, sand beneath their feet and the salt breeze in their hair, before the world had forced them to grow up.

Arthur's hand comes to rest against his hip, the heat of it bleeding through Merlin's tunic to his skin. Merlin uses it as leverage to crawl into Arthur's lap fully, his hands restless and wandering on Arthur's bare skin. He feels too hot, like he's burning from the inside.

"Arthur." It's whispered against his lips like a plea. "Arthur, _please_."

"I'm here, I'm here," Arthur tells him, over and over again. He grips him tighter and starts kissing down his chin to his throat. "I'm right here," he says, the words murmured into Merlin's skin.

Merlin trails his hand lower, down Arthur's chest and past the ugly bandages to between his legs, where the sheets have been bunched together. He is naked beneath them. Merlin drags the heel of his palm over the growing hardness he feels. Arthur gasps, a hoarse sound that sets Merlin's blood and magic aflame. He kisses Merlin again, this time with the same edge of desperation that is making Merlin's heart thud loudly in his chest.

"I need you," Merlin tells him between wet and frantic kisses.

Arthur only nods, like he understands exactly what Merlin is asking even though Merlin isn't entirely sure himself. With nimble fingers, Arthur loosens Merlin's belt and unclasps his tunic, pushing it off his shoulders. Merlin pulls off his sandals and tunic the rest of the way, now just as naked as Arthur, who is staring at him with that familiar look of wonder on his face, like Merlin is something precious, something special.

"Arthur—"

Arthur kicks away the sheets and shifts to lie back against the pillows. "Come here," Arthur says, and takes his hand. He tugs Merlin down to lie on top of himself, then raises his head up to kiss him deeply. His tongue pushes past Merlin's lips and slides across the backs of his teeth, stealing his breath.

Merlin shifts to straddle Arthur and finds himself seated across his lap, Arthur's cock poking the back of his thigh. He thrusts back against it and Arthur groans helplessly into the kiss. Merlin does it again. Again and again and again, until Arthur is thrusting back against him. His lips leave Arthur's in favor of kissing and licking along his jaw, where the early signs of stubble prickle against his tongue. He sucks a kiss to Arthur's pulse point, the blood pounding wildly beneath his lips. Arthur's skin is hot, hands sweaty as they push Merlin's thighs farther apart, fingers digging into his skin.

Merlin gasps, his cock throbbing. He feels like the air has been sucked from his lungs and replaced by heat, the heat of Arthur's skin. Their thrusts become frantic, rhythmless. Merlin knows they could find their release this way, rutting together like animals, but it's not about that—it isn't what he wants.

"The oil," Arthur husks, as though hearing his thoughts. He shifts up to flip them over, but Merlin puts a hand to his chest and pushes him back down onto the bed.

Arthur stares up at him with unfocused eyes. "Merlin?"

Merlin glances away. "I don't want that," he says, hesitating. "I need more."

Arthur just nods. He wets his lips, parting his thighs. "Do you want to—?"

"No," Merlin says quickly. "Not that either."

Arthur furrows his brows, clearly confused. "Then what else?"

Merlin regards Arthur carefully, taking in his messy hair and kiss-bruised lips. He looks so wrecked already. Merlin feels his insides clench with want.

He has heard soldiers tell stories of what it is like to ride another man, the pleasure that both are meant to feel. Merlin had never paid them much mind, writing them off as the feverish desires of men who were far away from their homes, their wives. It was not proper custom. Just the thought of it had made Merlin's ears warm and cheeks flush.

He had pushed the thought to the back of his mind until a few nights ago. Since Uther's death, Arthur's workload had increased twofold and he had spent many evenings working well into the night. Normally Merlin would wait for him so they could retire together, but Gaius was an early riser and raised an eyebrow in disapproval every time Merlin yawned, his silent way of saying that Merlin should have gone to bed earlier.

It had been during a warm, sticky night that Merlin had entered his room in Gaius' antechamber, breathless with his tunic sticking to his back. Before Merlin had left, Arthur had pressed him against the door and spent long minutes kissing him senseless—his mouth, his neck, his collarbones. Merlin had stripped his tunic and fallen face-down onto his bed, still painfully aroused.

But when he had reached down between his legs, meaning to take his pleasure by his own hand, Merlin had remembered what the soldiers had said. They had mentioned a place deep inside, a gland that caused immense pleasure when stimulated. So Merlin, desperate, had fumbled with the vial of oil near his bedside, slicking one finger and tentatively pressing the tip of it between his cleft. He had spread his legs wider before slowly pushing the finger inside himself, the intrusion awkward but not painful. Merlin had thrusted the finger in and out halfheartedly.

It had felt odd, too thin, and not enough. But then he had oiled up a second finger and slid it in alongside the first. It had hurt, but there was pleasure there too, dampening the edges of the pain. He had started thrusting his fingers inside more earnestly, clumsily trying to chase that pleasure-pain.

At some point he must have crooked his fingers the right away because he'd brushed against something that had made him gasp loudly, his softening cock suddenly twitching against his thigh with renewed interest.

Briefly, Merlin had considered stopping. Greek men did not take their pleasure this way. But then he had remembered those times when Arthur's cock would accidentally brush against his hole when they laid together, how his inner muscles would clench greedily, as though wanting more. The nature of his desires had ashamed Merlin; even then, he had nearly withdrawn his fingers. But just nearly.

Cheeks burning hot, Merlin had done it again. Then again and again, until he was biting his blanket to keep quiet. He had shoved a pillow between his legs to provide some relief for his aching cock, rutting against it as he thrust back against his own fingers, wishing they were Arthur's instead. And it had been that thought—of Arthur's strong fingers twisting inside of him, and then, later, of Arthur's cock filling him—that had pushed Merlin to his release.

It's the very thing Merlin wants now.

"I want you inside of me," Merlin tells him, firmly.

He watches the play of Arthur's emotions across his face—first shock, then confusion, understanding, hesitation, and, however briefly, _want_ —before schooling his expression into something much more neutral.

Arthur's throat jumps as he swallows. "You know that we do not—"

"I know," Merlin says calmly.

"But you still wish to?"

"Yes."

"It will hurt."

Merlin doesn't tell Arthur of the nights he has spent experimenting, the spells he has tried. "I can take it."

Arthur runs his hand down Merlin's breastbone before resting it over his navel. "You are certain?"

 _I want you in every way possible_. "Yes," Merlin says. Then adds, "Are you?"

At that, Arthur smiles softly. He takes Merlin's hand in his own and brings it to his lips, placing a kiss to his palm.

It is the only answer Merlin needs.

"How should we...?"

"Just— Just lie there. Let me take care of you."

Merlin reaches for the bottle of oil he uses to massage Arthur's muscles and uncorks it, pouring a liberal amount onto his hand. He lathers it onto Arthur's cock, stroking him slowly. Arthur arches up into the circle of his fist, panting as Merlin pulls back the foreskin and rubs his thumb over the glistening tip, smearing the fluid.

"Merlin—"

"I know." Merlin crawls back up his body and leans down to kiss him, dipping his tongue into his mouth.

If it was another time, Merlin would push Arthur's hands between his legs and urge him to open him up with slick, lazy fingers until he was half mad with desire. But Merlin feels desperate with how much he wants, _needs_  Arthur right now. He can't wait any longer.

Merlin breaks the kiss and shifts back, raising himself up on his knees. He takes Arthur's cock in his hand and guides it to his hole.

"No— Merlin, stop!" Arthur gasps, eyes wide and wild. "Don't— You'll hurt—"

"Just watch," Merlin says softly.

He whispers a word, eyes flickering from blue to gold, and feels the slickness between his thighs, telling him it's worked. Merlin has been working on the spell for days now and is eager to show Arthur what it can do. He bites his lip and slowly, carefully begins to lower himself onto Arthur's cock, his wet and stretched insides giving way easily. He can hear nothing over the wild pounding of his blood in his ears. His heart gives an overly large beat, the realization of what they are doing crashing into him like a wave that knocks him under water.

Merlin stops for a moment to catch his breath, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotions. There is some pain like he had expected, but it's nothing compared to what he is feeling. When Arthur settles his hands on his quivering thighs, gentle and reassuring, Merlin thinks he might cry, the words stuck in his throat.

"Arthur," he chokes out. "I—"

"Easy," Arthur whispers. The look in his eyes is one of pure adoration. "I've got you."

"I love you," Merlin gasps. Something in his stomach flutters at the way Arthur smiles at the word _love._ "So _much,_ Arthur." He lowers himself the rest of the way, until he is seated with Arthur buried deep within him.

Their connection during these moments has always been strong, but never anything like this—their _bodies_  are connected, Arthur's cock splitting him open, bigger and better than the fingers he had used to open himself up. It feels like everything in their lives has led up to this one moment.

"How—" Arthur sounds as shaky as Merlin feels. "How does it feel for you?"

"Full," Merlin says on an exhale. "Full with _you._ It's... I can't describe it." His voice sounds airy and too far away. "I can feel you _inside_  of me," he marvels.

Arthur makes a choked sound, hands gripping Merlin's thighs harder. The tendons in his neck are taut against his skin. Merlin knows it is taking every bit of Arthur's self-control to keep from moving, to give Merlin the time he needs to adjust. Licking his lips, Merlin plants his hands on Arthur's chest and lifts up halfway before sliding back down on his cock, the pleasure-pain making his eyes flutter shut.

By now Arthur's fingers are digging into his thighs almost painfully. "Gods," he breathes.

Merlin's eyes fly open. "No," he rasps, narrowing his eyes. "You will not speak their name when I am in your bed."

Arthur just gapes at him, mouth hanging open—startled and speechless. Merlin thinks perhaps he has gone too far, but then Arthur's cock throbs deep inside of him. He watches the way his eyes darken with arousal, deep liquid blue. It's as good an indication as any.

Merlin dips down to mouth at his jaw. "You will speak my name only," he murmurs. He presses his lips to Arthur's ear. "Is that understood, _my lord_?" He punctuates his words with a tiny thrust of his hips.

 _"Fuck,"_ Arthur groans, long and drawn out. He hardly ever swears like this, not unless he's so far gone he can't keep a hold on his tongue.

Merlin secretly loves it.

Grinning, Merlin sits back up and pushes his sweaty hair off his forehead. He starts rocking back and forth, carefully at first, his movements clumsy and inexperienced. Arthur's hands settle on his hips, guiding him, and as the burn gives way to more of a pleasant slide, they fall into an easier rhythm.

"Look at you," Arthur murmurs wonderingly. He slides his hand over Merlin's chest, resting it over his heart. Merlin holds it there, smiling weakly between loud breaths. _"Look_  at you, Merlin. I wish you could see yourself. You're beautiful."

"Arthur," Merlin pants out, then gasps as Arthur thrusts up into him harder, cock brushing that part of him he has no name for. Merlin squeezes his hand. He closes his eyes and swears he sees sparks. _"Arthur_. _"_

"I can't believe we fit together like this," Arthur marvels. He reaches behind Merlin to the place where they're connected. "Your magic is incredible. _You_  are incredible."

Merlin's heart swells in his chest, feeling too big for the tiny space that contains it. He can feel the prickle of tears in his eyes. His cheeks are wet, whether from tears or sweat, he isn't certain. But his thighs burn and his knees ache. "Ar— Arthur," he sputters, "I can't, not for much longer— I—"

Suddenly, Arthur shifts into a sitting position, pulling Merlin into his lap and steadying him. Arthur thrusts up, and the new position makes his cock hit that spot inside Merlin full-on, over and over. Merlin's mouth falls open in a broken moan. He holds onto Arthur's shoulders and starts riding him in earnest, the sound of their skin and panting impossibly loud in the silence of the room. It's too good, it's too much. Merlin never wants it to end.

"The next time we do this, I want it to go on for _hours_ , _"_ Arthur murmurs, mouthing at Merlin's neck, "till I can no longer tell where my body ends and yours begins."

 _The next time we do this_. Just the thought of Arthur wanting to do this again is enough to make Merlin's cock leak on his belly. He feels the warm tingling begin in his spine and knows he is close.

"I will never have another this way," Arthur says, kissing the dip of his chin. "I want no one else, in this life or the next. Only you, Merlin. I love you."

Merlin digs his fingernails into the skin of Arthur's back, leaving marks. "Say it again," Merlin gasps, magic singing in his blood. He twists his hips and they both groan.

"I _love_ you," Arthur tells him, his hands slippery on Merlin's sweaty skin. "And I will never love another, not ever. Not the way that I love you."

It feels like Arthur is breaking him apart and building him back up. Merlin is crying now, his lashes wet as he blinks past the tears. "Arthur—"

"And if the time should come that I am not here with you"—at that, Merlin chokes out a sob—"then I want you to remember this," he says, thrusting deeper into the slick heat of Merlin's body. "I want you to know that no one has ever been loved more than you, and no one ever will be."

Arthur licks away Merlin's tears and kisses his cheeks. Merlin cradles Arthur's dear face in his hands, kissing him through the tears, sobbing against his mouth. He wonders if Arthur really believes he would spend another day alive without him. Merlin tries to imagine that—a day, a week, a month. _Years_  without Arthur. It frightens him, _hurts_  him more than anything else. He could not bear it.

"If anything were to happen to you, know that I would only be one step behind."

As their movements get more frantic, Arthur holds him tight. "You are everything," he tells Merlin, making his heart soar. "My light, my heart, my life." Merlin is dizzy with the weight of his confession. He is so close already, Arthur's words pushing him closer to the edge.

" _Ar_ thur," he sobs.

Arthur takes his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist reverently. "Dragon mine," he calls him, so full of love and adoration that Merlin is lost.

He comes untouched, spurting hot, wet streaks over their bellies and chests, urged along by Arthur's strong hands holding him close, the solid lines of his body. Merlin shakes with the intensity of it, sobbing into Arthur's neck in relief. Arthur hugs him, kissing his temple and whispering endearments. _Love_ , he calls him. _Dearest_. Merlin clutches him tighter, shivering, and tries to remember how to breathe again.

But even through the confused haze of emotions, Merlin realizes that Arthur has not come yet, still hard and buried deep inside of him. He feels limp and tired, but unsatisfied—selfishly wants Arthur to find his release within his body. Merlin starts to lift up again, but Arthur stops him with a gentle hand.

"Merlin, stop," Arthur tells him. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to do this for you," Merlin says desperately. "Inside of me, Arthur. _Please._ I want it too."

Merlin isn't sure what changes Arthur's mind, whether it's the primal urge to claim or the neediness in his voice, but Arthur tightens his arms around him and starts thrusting anew. Merlin clings to him, keeping his face tucked into the crook of Arthur's neck. Everything is that much more heightened and intense now that he isn't so focused on his own pleasure. He can feel Arthur's heart pounding against his chest, hear Arthur's ragged breathing in his ear—knows just how badly he needs to finish.

Merlin kisses the join of his neck and shoulder, mumbles, "Come on, Arthur."

Arthur's movements get erratic. His hands grip Merlin's thighs so hard that he is certain there will be bruises tomorrow. He moans softly at the thought, his muscles clenching and unclenching around Arthur.

Merlin kisses his mouth sloppily, then looks at him—taking in the sight of his messy hair and flushed cheeks and swollen red lips. Arthur stares back as though transfixed.

"Your eyes. _Gold_ ," he breathes in awe. "So gorgeous."

He thrusts inside _hard_ , once, twice, and then Arthur moans, a filthy sound with Merlin's name mixed in, and is coming too, deep inside his body. Merlin watches his face go slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back, and the last thing he remembers before closing his eyes and succumbing to the bone-deep exhaustion is the wet heat Arthur fills him with, claiming him forever.

 

•••

 

When Merlin comes to, he feels a light pressure on his lips. It takes a long, sleep-fuzzed moment to realize that it is Arthur, tracing his mouth with his finger. He fights a smile and stubbornly keeps his eyes closed, sleep warm and comfortable.

"I know you're awake, idiot," Arthur says fondly.

Merlin smiles against his finger, then nips at it until Arthur replaces it with his mouth, kissing him gently.

"How long was I asleep?" Merlin asks when their lips part.

"A while," Arthur says vaguely. Merlin is lying half on top of him, and Arthur presses his face into the side of Merlin's neck, planting a kiss there.

"How on _earth_  did you learn to do that?" Arthur mumbles.

"Gwaine."

Arthur pulls back instantly, eyes narrowed and looking murderous. Merlin kisses him again, laughing against his mouth. "You are too easy."

"That was not the least bit funny," Arthur grumbles.

Merlin starts to shift, but then stops abruptly, wincing as he feels a trickle of wetness slide down the back of his thigh. "Oh," he says, embarrassed. "Arthur, let me up, I need to—"

But Arthur just flips him over with practiced ease, as though Merlin is still the weak, skinny boy from years before. Merlin mutters as much, but Arthur ignores him. He hovers over him, looking concerned.

"What is it?"

"I..." Merlin feels a flush creep up his neck. "I need to clean myself off where you—" He gestures hopelessly, trying to get Arthur to understand. "Before I soil the sheets."

Merlin knows the instant his words register, for Arthur's eyes grow a little wider and he glances down between their bodies. Merlin notices that Arthur has already wiped their chests and bellies clean, likely when Merlin had been dozing.

Arthur reaches for the cloth and scoots down his body. "Let me see," he says, soft.

"Arthur—" Merlin tries, cheeks aflame.

"Merlin." Arthur looks at him carefully, raising his eyebrows. He smiles. "Let me see," he repeats gently.

Still Merlin hesitates, squirming where he lays, before finally parting his legs for Arthur to see. He closes his eyes, face burning with embarrassment, and tries not to fidget even as he feels Arthur's intense gaze on him.

"You're all swollen and red," Arthur murmurs. "I hurt you."

And it's the way he says it, alarmed and worried, that makes Merlin open his eyes to look at him. His brows are drawn together, a tiny crease in the middle of them that Merlin wants to smooth away.

"No, Arthur. It feels— I _like_  it. It's a good kind of ache, knowing it was you who put it there."

Though he doesn't look entirely convinced, Arthur's face softens some. He kisses the inside of his thigh before wiping Merlin clean, so tenderly that Merlin is weak with it.

When Arthur rests a thumb against his puckered hole, Merlin gasps, lets out a little, " _Ah_."

"Next time I will lick you clean."

Merlin actually _whimpers_  at that. He reaches for Arthur immediately, tugging his strong body down beside his own. Merlin kisses him, slides his tongue against Arthur's own, shuddering. Arthur returns the kiss just as fiercely, hand cupping the back of Merlin's head. He almost wants to go again, this time with Arthur on top of him and pressing him into the mattress, but he can't quite muster up the energy.

Arthur hums against his mouth. "I remember us having much more stamina when we were boys."

Merlin laughs, kicking his shin lightly. "Insatiable, you are."

 _"Addictive_ _,_ you are," Arthur breathes, and nips at his ear. Finally he flops down next to Merlin with a sigh, resting his cheek against Merlin's chest, seeming to deflate around him.

Merlin combs his fingers through Arthur's hair, letting it stick up in messy little tufts before smoothing it down again. "Arthur?" he asks, something weighing heavily on his mind.

Arthur _hmm_ s in response, his index finger tracing a random lazy pattern over Merlin's navel.

Merlin hesitates. "What you said earlier to me..." Arthur looks up at him, a smile playing across his lips. "Did you really mean all of that?"

"Every word," he says.

Merlin ignores the stuttering of his heart at the loving look Arthur throws him.

"You know that we cannot—"

"I would marry you if I could."

"Arthur," Merlin gasps, eyes wide with shock.

"It's the truth," Arthur says simply. He rolls onto his side so he's level with Merlin, but keeps his arm around Merlin's waist. "You were my first love, and you will be my last."

"You're meant to marry," Merlin tells him, tracing a finger down the bridge of Arthur's nose. He takes a moment to imagine it—Arthur with a beautiful woman by his side, her belly round with his baby. His stomach twists, jealousy and sadness twining together. "Have... Have a wife and a child. I can't do that for you."

Arthur looks at him as though he is being quite stupid. "I don't want you to do that for me," he says. "I will take no wife, sire no child. It's already been decided, Merlin."

"But your father wanted—"

"What my father wanted and what I want are two very different things," Arthur says sharply. "I respect his memory and he helped me become the man that I am today, but I am my own person. I will not live by the wishes of a dead man." Arthur brushes his fingers across Merlin's cheek. "I think deep down a part of him always knew that."

In spite of himself, Merlin relaxes a little. "What will become of the Pendragon line then?"

Arthur snorts softly. "Perhaps Morgana will have a child."

They look at each other and burst out laughing. Merlin watches the way Arthur's entire face seems to light up as he laughs, how he rolls onto his back and throws his head back against the pillow. When he has calmed down enough, he looks at Merlin, eyes twinkling.

 _This is real magic_ , Merlin thinks.

"What becomes of our line is of no concern to me," Arthur says, suddenly very serious. He looks deeply into Merlin's eyes. "I want only one thing, and that is to spend my life with you."

And Merlin believes him; he loves Arthur so fiercely sometimes.

Merlin hooks his ankle around Arthur's and nestles into his side. He knows Gaius is expecting him back, but he is tired and sore and sleepy. And happy, for the first time in a long time. Arthur kisses the top of his head and Merlin makes a pleased little sound, moving to rest his hand over Arthur's chest to feel the strong beat of his heart. The sweat has cooled on their bodies and Merlin shivers. He makes a careless gesture with his hand and the sheets move, covering their bodies. Arthur smiles but doesn't say anything.

Merlin's eyelids have grown heavy when Arthur speaks, sounding uncertain. "What happened to them, do you think?"

"Who?" Merlin mumbles sleepily.

"The demigod and the boy who was his world."

Merlin opens his eyes. Arthur is staring off with a distant look on his face. His thumb rubs over the top of Merlin's spine absently.

"Pyrrhus would not let them be buried together," Merlin says, "though it had been his father's wish."

A look passes over Arthur's face, too quickly for Merlin to discern.

"I have heard Thetis helped reunite them," Merlin says softly.

"I thought she hated—?"

"She did." Merlin shrugs a shoulder. "Perhaps she took pity on him. Perhaps she realized what her son meant to him." They would never know the truth, but it was what Merlin liked to think, anyway.

"They are happy now, then."

It almost sounds like a question. "Yes." Merlin drops a kiss to his shoulder. "They are finally at peace."

Arthur closes his eyes, smiling a little. "I am happy," he says a while later, "that they were able to find their peace, if not in this life, then the next."

Merlin looks at him a moment longer. "As am I," he says.

Merlin listens to Arthur's breathing deepen and even out before closing his eyes again. He thinks of how lucky he is, how lucky they both are, to have their now and their later.

They may not be gods, but Merlin sends a prayer to them anyway.

 

••• 


End file.
